...a new false face...
(or: An exercise in parentheticals, photographicals
and confessionals)
He is making his way back. After a long Hiatus. (and here I am, speaking of myself in the third person, as I said I would not, and capriciously capitalizing words for emphasis, as I never said I would not and yet always felt that I never would or should).
He has lost two businesses. (No, I don’t in point of fact know where they’ve run off to, where they might be hiding, or just how I lost them…well, actually I do have an idea or two— a few certain things that I in fact do know contributed to said losing but I was speaking more about the insubstantiality of what we mean when we say “business” as well as the fact that they [“businesses”] are in fact non-corporeal [though often somehow "corporate"] “things” whose true “existence” can always be questioned. [They are not “things,” really, are they? They cannot be truly touched or felt, except perhaps in the heart and sometimes the pocket-book])
He has lost all his hair. (No, not like early onset [Rather funny, that--calling it “early onset” as if I was not in fact closer to fifty than I am to forty!] male pattern baldness but like [no, no—not “like” but actually "as", actually "in the form of", actually "a real-life case of"] alopecia universalis, as in complete, 100%, top-to-bottom, front-to-back, all-over [and under, for that matter--not that you asked] bodily hair loss.) He has lost ALL his hair.
(There I go, capitalizing for emphasis again.) He now looks in the mirror and sees a “freak” (It’s o.k.. I am quite comfortable with the label and the idea and do not think of “freak” as a bad word at all, and really—no eyebrows? no eyelashes? I really do look pretty freaky[at least with my glasses off]) and embraces it.
But also (and really, more importantly) he sees a man who did not in fact have a heart attack or an aneurism or a stroke or any number of other possible stress- induced maladies or illnesses. He only lost all his hair and this is a thing that can, in fact, be felt or perhaps a thing which can be felt not to not be there—its ab- sence is a thing that is felt.
He has been told that he wears it well. (The baldness, that is. And I would tend to believe this was patronizing feel-good head-patting if it did not come so often from veritable strangers who seem to have no vested interest in how I look or my feelings there-from.)
No, he looks in the mirror and is thankful. Grateful, even. (Even though I cannot say to whom or to what it is I should direct said gratitude, said thankfulness.) He looks like someone who has had chemo-therapy but he has not and so every look in the mirror is a reminder—a re- minder of just how lucky he is. How lucky he is to still have his family, his wife and daughter. How lucky he is to still have any thing at all. How lucky he is in fact to be capable of still having—of being a po- ssessor; one who may be said to possess things. How lucky he is to be capable of considering whether or not he even believes in such things as luck or chance. He finds himself lucky to be given this chance to be reminded of how lucky he is every time he looks in the mirror, to be reminded with this loss of how much he still has, of how much he has not lost, to be re- minded (to be minded— again!) of the value of being able to find value.
Not that he in any way feels that he possesses either wife or daughter or any one or any thing but more that he is now in a position to possess the knowledge of what it truly means to possess and what it means to possess the knowledge of how little we can be said to truly possess anything. Or what it means to lose. (Or, I think, perhaps the only things that we can truly be said to possess are intangible things.) Businesses, hair, sleep. He has lost all of these things. (But now--you see--now I am losing the losing of them as well.) He now finds himself in the valuable position of being possessed of the right kind of knowledge to be able to contemplate the concept of possession, right here, right now, on this page.
He is learning to let go. (Still and always, [in still- ness and in all ways] I am learning how to do this.)
Good to see you, Johnny.
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Good to be seen, Ashley.
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so nice to [truly] meet you [again]; so Good to meet You so much more clearly than before now that so much has been dis-spelled from the portrait[s] {you didn’t mention the [ ]s}; uh, oh; reminds me of the Zen story (a bit bendy this, but stay with the theme:) “Is That So!” with an exclamation mark, not a question mark; [you are] Well Come [in fact you only {somewhat} strayed away]
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Not [quite] my original face, but getting closer me thinks, or was that [un]thinks, or perhaps un(thing[k])s!
“You Don’t Say!”
I dig bendy. Bendy is what I do, photo-graph-y-wise, that is. Bender from way back. That Lensbaby thing.
I strayed but never stayed, really, just rolled and rolled and bent a bit….
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We can lose many ‘things’ in life, but that is all they are, for they are not memories, moments, laughs, giggles, tears, love, shared with loved ones. If we have these then we are not empty but complete. I love how you have delved, thought and shared.
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Thanks so much, Jen. Yes, the most important things are intangible.
Sorry for my delay in responding.
Hope things are well with you and yours.
I’ll see you ’round.
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Glad to see you back sharing and writing. Ive missed you.. tand all these glorious
Layers.
And ps. You do wear it well.
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Thanks, Aud–It has taken some getting used to, but now I think I am actually more comfortable in my skin than I ever was before. Missed you too–that other place just ain’t the same. I am weening myself off of it, bit by bit.
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You appear to have emerged from “this bit of loss”… very rich indeed. Very good to see you back Johnny. Write. Write. Write… and keep the shutter flickering.
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Thank you Chris. It has been a rough couple of years. I have learned to allow myself to get back to this at my own pace, in my own time. There was no space for it for a while. Now I am breathing into it, expanding it, letting it grow.
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So does it feel like being reborn?
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In a way, yes.
I used to make babies cry. Now? I think they see me as one of their own.
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Great to see you back! Geez, you’ve been through enough interesting times… I still debate whether such times are gifts or curses. The many I’ve been through certainly provide a great deal of perspective. So mostly I consider them gifts. But never actively seek more. Take care and keep writing!
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I like to think of them as gifts, yes. All is a learning experience if we are paying attention. That, I think, is the key. Paying attention. Often the cost is a bit too steep though, no?
Thanks for stopping by. Looking forward to getting back at it.
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Hey Johnny…good to see you back here. Seems I can’t call you “Gravity” any more…doesn’t roll off the key board like it used to. Love the last photo! And “…in stillness and in all ways”
Prose has bent my brain, Johnny…I’m going out now to look for my poet head. It may take awhile but see you around…
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Well, I suppose I am a bit lighter these days. You may call me whatever you like. The wife is fond of “The Hairless Wonder.” That has a certain circus side-show charm to it, I suppose. I have been attempting to bend my brain to prose, as it happens. I am considering attempting to get some poetry legitimately published and so I have to think about what else I may/should put up here besides images.
As for the poet head, I recommend looking for it on the beach head. Or perhaps it is in The Headland.
See you ’round in deed.
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Funny you should mention it… I’m on my way down to the coast for a week…
Prose is a trip… I had no idea how involving and tenacious it is. Don’t think I’ve seen you over at Mark’s blog. Think you’d like his writing big time… https://markrenney1.wordpress.com/
Radical change, Johnny but you’ll rock it … bald is the new sexy.
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Thanks for the tip–I’ll go check it out now.
To be honest, this experience has actually made me more comfortable in my own skin than I think I ever was with all that hair. Change is good!
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And you’re still Ms. Light to me. 😉
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Wow, Johnny! Glad you’re back.
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Thanks, Richard. Glad to be back.
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I can only echo…but also gotta say parts of this cut close, given my partner’s recent trials, so I am over here, empathizing, like I’m right there.
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Compared to real danger to a loved one, what I have gone through is but a bump on the road. I appreciate the difference and am glad to know that things are settling down for you.
Thank you for your kind words.
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🙂 Love the flow to this – very beat feel to it in a way… you still manage to pull me/we/us into your space and push us to see the world as we see it – but through your lens. Almost as if you have been paring down…minimalizing the body, business, and soul in a way?
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I feel that there is something to explore here with the first vs. third person viewpoint–looking at one’s self from both within and without. I have been thinking a lot lately about mirrors. Something to explore both in images and in words. In that vein I have been thinking about exploring self-portraiture via the media of photography, mirrors and face-paint. I reckon I kind of have a blank canvas to work with now.
And yes, minimizing is most definitely a focus. Getting back to those things that really matter to me.
Thanks as always for your support in these endeavors.
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Do you know Charles Simic’s “Mirrors at 4a.m.”?
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/55186
This poem haunts me.
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NO – I hadn’t! have you seen this though…it haunts me in many ways…
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OMG Don’t ask me what took me so long but HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Thanks for the laugh. I needed it.
Miss ya, miss Whimsy.
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I get it. A freak you are not. Lucky you definitely are. And you’re a poet. A dark soul. Maybe even kindred, right? Glad you found your blessings.
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I beg. your. pardon! I am SO a freak!
A dark-souled, kindred, blessed poetic freak!
Maybe.
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That’s the best kind of freak.
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